Change in the Weather
by arrowheadflyby
Summary: Prom. The best night of their lives. Ripped apart in a second.
1. Chapter 1

**Starting this one. Just want ya'll to know that I'm very thankful for what you guys have done for me lately, giving me reviews and telling me about my work. I really appreciate it. I appreciate the fallows and favorites as well. Know that this is not a Christine Michael fic, but simply starts out that way. It will develop to engulf most of the main characters, specifically Brennan and Booth. Read and review, por favor!**

* * *

"Come on you two, get close!" Booth yelled at Michael and Christine, who looked at each other with equal smirks.

"Come on, Dad. Why all the pictures?" Christine whined.

"Michael Vincent Staccato Hodgins! Act like you at least like her," Jack yelled, running in and pushing the two together before quickly jumping back and taking a picture. Laughing, Michael placed his arm around Christine and placed a kiss on her cheek, before drawing and letting the adults have their fun.

When the photo shoot was finally done, they both pulled from each other and made their way towards their families. Brennan felt a familiar pull in her chest as she looked at her daughter, and kissed her on her forehead.

"You look beautiful, Christine,"

Christine's eyes softened as she embraced her mother.

"Thanks…"

Prom…Junior prom, really, but prom none the less. Christine, dressed elegantly in a long, flowing blue dress, looked over at her best friend, Michael, who wore a strict tux and occasionally looked over at her, wiggling his eyebrows. This did not go unnoticed by Booth, who shot him a look every time he did it.

Granted, neither Michael nor Christine had been dating long. About a month, really. Booth couldn't get over that.

However, he ignored the sensation that burned in his lion heart when he looked at his beautiful daughter, and held out his hand for her, before kissing her on the top of her head.

"Do I look pretty, Daddy?" she asked, knowing what his answer would be, but wanting to hear it from him. Booth smiled knowingly and nodded his head, holding her close.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world, Chrissy,"

Hodgins had placed his hands on Michaels shoulders, looking at him in the eyes.

"You'll be safe, right?"

"Yes, Dad,"

"You'll treat her right, right?"

"Yes, Dad,"

"You won't do anything I wouldn't do, right?"

"Dad, if I did what you did in high school, I'd probably be dead,"

Hodgins laughed and patted his son on the back.

"Just remember-Booth's a trained sniper,"

"I got it, Dad. I'm taking her home right after the dance anyways. I have a game tomorrow,"

Silently, he pulled his son into a hug which Michael tried to resist, before he looked over at his mom and dad and grinned goofily.

Angela, the speckle of tears in her eyes, embraced Michael even more warmly and then pulled away, looking him in the eyes.

"You're growing up…"

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yep. I'll be old just like you and Dad soon,"

She lightly smacked him and shook her head, but smiled at him none the less. Checking his watch, Michael quickly hopped up and waved at Christine.

"We gotta go! Dinner reservations at five. You know how picky those guys are," he stated, and Christine looked over at her mother and father and waved goodbye before walking out. Michael pounded his chest and gave the peace symbol before taking Christines arm in his and walking her to his car (A beat up Chevy truck, but hey, it was wheels).

"After you, my lady," he stated, grinning. She chuckled and got in, before Michael closed the door and rushed to the other side.

"Before Mom and Dad or Auntie Temperance and Uncle Booth take more pictures. Dear god, I don't think I could take it!" he stated dramatically, before backing out and driving down the road, radio cranked up.

The rest of the night went, basically, without a hitch. They both went out to eat, Christine somehow managed to not spill on herself, and they both walked grand march. Fifth couple to go. Booth, Brennan, Hodgins and Angela had all shown up and started to take pictures, though neither noticed. After that was done, they mainly danced for most of the night. After getting together with some friends, the group went and played lazar tag before calling it a night deciding that everyone should go home.

Walking back to the truck, Christine laughed and hung on Michael.

"Man, I whooped your ASS there, bug boy,"

He snorted and ruffled her hair, which was no longer neatly taken care of and was now sticking all over the place.

"Yeah, well, I don't have an FBI father who teaches me all kinds of stuff about guns. Geez, why does he do that anyways?"

"Cuz he loovvvveeesss me,"

Michael laughed and put his arm around her, before lifting her up off the ground and carrying her to his truck. She screamed from joy and batted at him lightly, and when he put her down she rolled her eyes.

"So, Harvard next year, huh?"

"Yep. Both of us going together?"

"If we both get in, hell to the yes,"

Opening the door for her once more and then crawling to his side, he started up the truck and let it warm up.

"I'm thinking we take a quick spin and then head home. How's that sound?"

"Where we 'taking a spin'?" she asked mockingly. Michael looked into the sky and tilted his head.

"There's this place that Dad and I used to go to when I was little-We would just look at the stars for hours. Course, we don't have that much time. But I can show it to you,"

"Michael, I don't want to-"

"Just looking at the stars. Nothing more,"

She stayed silent for a while and then nodded in agreement.

When they got to the place, it was totally quite. No sounds to disturb them. Sighing in relief, Michael and Christine got out and went to the bed of the truck, laying down and looking at the stars.

"That's delphinus. Bet you haven't heard of that one,"

"Naw," he said with a laugh. "You didn't point it out every two seconds when we were kids or anything,"

After a while, the peace became comfortable, but Michael knew better then to stay out later. After slipping off the bed of the truck and starting the car again, Christine reluctantly crawled in.

"Do I have to home now?"

"Unless you want Booth shooting me, then yeah. It's probably a good idea,"

She laughed and reached over before honking the horn, and Michael turned around, a huge grin on his face.

With the windows open, driving down the road seemed nice. Peaceful. Occasionally, Christine would wave her hand in the air. When a song came on the radio, however, she jumped up in excitement.

"That's my JAM, Mikey! Pump it up!"

They turned the knob up to the highest volume and Christine played the air guitar, while Michael drummed absently on his wheel. For a moment, he closed his eyes and unfocused, before he opened them again and saw something.

Someone else was in their lane.

Someone else, was in, their fucking lane!

Coming right towards them.

Panic invaded Michael as he tried to swerve out of their way, but suddenly they did the same thing. Anger flooded his veins and he tried to slam to a stop, but it was too later.

Impact.

Christine's screams bled through the night.

* * *

**So, what do ya'll think happened? Let me know! Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**One more, thanks for the quick reviews and fallows, favorites. I don't own Bones.**

**Let me know what you think is going to happen and let me know what you think so far! Thanks!**

* * *

Both Brennan and Booth had taken their home alone time rather seriously that night, and when the alarm went off, Brennan was draped over Booth, nuzzled in his neck. Groaning from having to move, he shut off the alarm and watched Brennan for a few more minutes, before decided that she had woken up too, but was feigning sleep.

"Hey there, beauty. How'd you sleep last night?"

Opening her eyes, she kissed him and then rolled off. Stiffling a yawn, she looked at the time and then listened for the sound of Christine's music. Not hearing it, she chuckled.

"How late do you think she was out last night?"

Booth rolled his eyes.

"Who knows? Should we wake her up and see if she has a hang over?"

Brennan shook her head.

"Let her sleep. She's a responsible kid. Let's just…Lay here for a while,"

Booth had no objections, so he rolled over to his side and embraced Brennan, closing his eyes and waiting for the time when Brennan would tell him to get up and get something accomplished. She'd toned it down significantly over the years, the need to get up at the crack of dawn. Now a days, she seemed content in his arms for hours on end.

He loved it.

When finally an hour had passed, Brennan pushed on him and muttered, "Get up," before rolling out on her own accord. Booth took a little while longer, his back stiff, but when he finally did get up, he made his way across the bedroom.

"Want anything for breakfast?"

She looked at the clock. 10:30.

"Pancakes sound good," she stated, before changing.

"Should I make some for Christine?"

"Wake her up and see. If she's crabby, just leave her be," Brennan waved him off and Booth grinned, walking down the hallway into Christine's room and pounding on the door.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up. You want anything for breakfast?"

No answer. Raising a brow, he knocked again.

"Hey, no use ignoring me. If you're going to be like that, I won't make you any," he threatened, hoping to coax a reply. When he didn't hear one, he started to feel the anger in his veins rise up, as he knocked, harshly, one last time.

"Christine! Talk to me!" he snarled. When silence greeted Booth, he grabbed the door handle and thrust it open, expecting to find a drunk teenager on her bed, passed out. Instead he found…

No one…

No one at all.

The anger quickly disappeared as he tried to come up with, as Brennan would say, a rational explanation. He looked around to see if there was any evidence of changed cloths, a chance that she'd gone running this morning. Nothing. He checked on her dresser to make sure there was no note. On her mirror, two sticky notes displayed Michaels number and another post-it with colleges and when their applications were due.

Nothing.

He looked over at the bed again, expecting it to at least be disturbed, when he realized something.

Hospital corners. He'd just shown her how to do that before she'd gotten ready for Prom.

She couldn't make her own. They were sloppy. They'd been working on it for a while, a trick to impress people who came by her dorm. At least, that's what she said. He was unsure exactly why she really wanted to learn how to do it.

This was perfect. His style.

"Brennan!" he shouted, using her last name instead of the nickname. This seemed to get her attention. The sound of quick footsteps and her voice carrying out almost calmed him down a bit.

"What is it, Booth? If she's hung over, we shouldn't be surprised. I tried my first cigarette at her age," she strolled down and then poked in, expecting that she would need to take care of the girl for the rest of the day. When she saw that no one was in the room, her eyes widened.

"Where is she?"

Booth shook his head.

"How should I know?"

Feeling a moment of panic, Booth darted downstairs, planning to call Angela and Hodgins. Brennan put her hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

"Booth, are you sure it isn't a possibility that she and Michael may have…Rented a room?"

Booth looked over angrily and shook his head.

"No! It is NOT possible,"

"Booth, at her age-"

"She should be focused on getting into a good school! So no, that is not a possibility. Plus, she's smart. She'd be home by now," he stated.

"What if she got drunk and decided to stay at a friends house? Isn't that what we told her to do if she was ever in a situation like that?"

Booth snorted.

"No one actually takes that advice, Bones,"

_Christine and Michael would,_ Brennan wanted to correct, but she kept her mouth shut.

In truth, she was as worried, if not more worried than Booth. But there were logical explanations. She wanted to look at the positive first. Not the negative.

As soon as he reached the phone, it started ringing, and he picked up.

"Booth," he stated, tapping his foot impatiently. The frantic voice on the other line made Booth's eyes go downcast.

"No, Michael isn't here, Ange…I was hoping she was at your house…"

Sighing in frustration, he tried to think of logical steps. When he couldn't come up with them, Brennan coaxed the phone out of his hand and put the receiver to her ear.

"Ange? Yes. I think it would be wise to stay at home for a while…I'm sure we'll get a call from them soon," she noted. After another few seconds, Brennan took the phone away from her ear and hit end, before bringing Booth to the living room to sit.

"What the hell are we supposed to do, Brennan?"

"Wait," she noted, closing her eyes. "We wait,"

It seemed as though every person in her life had made her say this. But now it was her daughter.

Wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Please don't hate me...I know a lot of you will. I don't own bones.**

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The crunching noise that met Michaels ears would have been disturbing, if only he'd managed to hear it.

With astonishing force, his head hit the side of the car, then the wheel, before the airbags finally deployed. It seemed to take forever, though neither would notice it. The person that had hit them swerved off and started to drive away from them.

Unaware.

As old of a truck as it was, Hodgins has installed some safety features. The instant it was hit, 911 was called, and the lack of response caused rapid response from first responders. Had Brennan and Booth been up to hear it, the sound of sirens wailing through the night would have caused them a sharp panic. Alas, both were in bed at the time.

After pulling up to the crash scene, police tried to warrant a response from Michael, who refused to respond. When finally a paramedic got to him, he cracked his eyes open a little.

"Wha…Happened?"

The paramedic tried to wake him up fully, but he seemed groggy and unaware. He did notice one thing, however.

"Wheres…Christine?"

The slurring of words made the first responder flinch, and looking at him in the eyes, made sure he understood.

"You need to stay awake with us, alright kid? Something might have been hit on your brain. Don't fall asleep. Can you do that for me?"

Michael nodded groggily, but almost instantly closed his eyes. The paramedic shook him awake again, and brought him to the ambulance, where he tried to keep him aware. This didn't seem possible. Whenever he tried to get a valid response, Michael almost immediately fell asleep. Figuring it was best to get him to the hospital, he told the driver to pull away and get them to emergency care.

Perhaps it was good that Michael was unaware. If he had been aware of his surroundings, he would have noticed the white cloth on top of his hood, the crime scene tape, and the lack of his best friend besides him.

Once more out of it, he fell asleep and wouldn't wake up, no matter how hard the EMT tried.

* * *

The call came not from a hospital, but from Cam. Brennan jumped up as soon as the phone rang and picked it up.

"Christine Angela Brennan-Booth! I swear, if you don't have a good explination-"

She was cut off and blinked suddenly at the realization that it wasn't her daughter, and her heart fell. As angry as she'd have been at Christine then, it didn't mean that she didn't love her. Blinking her eyes and attempting not to shake, she tried to answer.

"Yes…Of course we'll come down…Are you sure? Positive?"

_Please, no, _her voice begged.

"Ten minutes…Alright…"

Hanging up, Brennan shakily made her way to the couch and looked at Booth, the fear and exhaustion plain in her eyes. Grief, too. Booth got up and looked at her, taking her in his arms.

"Where is she?"

Brennan kept back a sob and tried to stay scientific.

"Can you drive us to the hospital, Booth?" she asked, a cry hidden beneath her strong front. Booth felt a wave of relief, believing this meant, at least, she was alive.

"What's going on, Bones? Do you have her room number?" he asked, already getting the keys and starting out the door, eager to make sure his little girl was okay. When Brennan didn't move, he made his way back to her.

"Bones…Do you have her room number? We can always check with the front desk if you don't,"

Brennan looked down at her hands and started out, trying to keep a composed face while she did.

"We won't need a room number, Booth…"

Booth blinked in surprise.

"Why? Is Michael hurt and Christine's just there?

Brennan crawled into the car and waited for Booth to fallow. When he did, and turned to her, she looked out the window.

"She isn't in a regular hospital room, Booth…She's in the hospital morgue,"

This realization made Booth let go of the wheel, walk out of the car, go into the back yard. Almost as soon as he was there, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

* * *

Perhaps the irony was never lost on Brennan. As she'd told Angela once, her most meaningful relationships were with the dead. Wasn't it ironic that now her own daughter was in that category?

She didn't fallow Booth. She didn't see the need. Instead, she kept a composed look and stared out the window, trying to fake herself into believing that she was no asleep and she was worried. It was natural for a mother to be worried.

Of course, she knew that wasn't possible. The pain she was feeling, it wasn't possible the feel it without being awake.

Closing her eyes, Brennan leaned back and sighed, her breath clouding the window.

She didn't cry.

* * *

"Dr. Saroyan," someone stated as they walked into the hospital. "I'm afraid we have a car crash victim. Could you verify cause of death?"

Looking up, Cam nodded. It was unusual for the hospital to ask her to come in on the nights, really at all, but with an MD she had the experience and knowledge to keep up in a hospital. So when they called her, usually on a short notice, she was okay with coming in.

"Of course," she stated, tugging on gloves and walking to the body bag, where a police officer was standing. He looked at her carefully as she unzipped it, waiting for a sign of disgust, but none came. Working at the Jeffersonian taught her to keep a hard stomach.

Usually.

The tug of her heart was at first because of the face. Totally smashed in. She could guess cause of death, and would guess that it was probably fatal.

"Not wearing seatbelt, huh?"

Police officer shook his head. Cam unzipped the rest of the bag and almost instantly had to hold back a sound of shock.

Because she knew that dress.

She'd helped pick it out.

Feeling her breath in the back of her throat, she looked over, almost afraid, to the man who was standing above her. Blinking, she licked her lips.

"Um…No ID?"

He shook his head.

"None. Though a young boy was taken to the hospital with brain trauma. Driver,"

_Michael._

Closing her eyes, Cam zipped up the bag again.

"I can't do this," she stated, taking off her gloves. The police looked surprise.

"I thought you Jeffersonian squints saw worse stuff then this," he stated.

Silent for a long time, she turned around.

"That's my best friend's daughter. Please find some else to do it,"

The policeman nodded and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**So...Thanks everyone! As always, I don't own Bones. i love ya'll. Read and review, por favor.**

* * *

Booth didn't come back for the longest time, and Brennan didn't move to find him. The numbness that was creeping up in her chest was similar to the numbness she'd first encountered after realizing that her mom and dad wouldn't be back to save her. The numbness made her eyes glaze over and made her want to just…Freeze.

It was similar, she guessed, to what a person would feel if they had gotten a local anesthetic to their entire body. Numb, and tingly. She couldn't feel the pain. It had faded away with clouded eyes.

_'Mom, what do you think of this dress?'_

_'Christine, you shouldn't be asking me about…'_

_Her sad eyes bore into Brennans and she pouted._

_'Plleaasseee mom…Help?'_

_She'd looked in slight panic over at Angela and Cam, who were both smirking at the display. When finally she turned back, she blinked._

_'It's good, Christine,'_

_'Ah! I can't count on you for anything,' she'd said jokingly, grinning at her mom before turning and going back into the dressing room._

This memory caused a sigh to escape from her lips as Brennan leaned back, covered her eyes and tried to take in a deep breath.

It seemed to take forever, but when Booth finally made it back, he turned on the car and looked ahead, not speaking to Brennan. Get there, he thought. Maybe this is all a cruel joke. Maybe Cam…Maybe…

He had no way to define what could have happened. But it had to be a sick, cruel joke. It wasn't right.

After pulling in, both Booth and Brennan sat at rigid attention, neither wanting to get out. Brennan reached over and pulled the keys out, ready to go, before she paused and gritted her teeth. Finally, Booth slid out and walked slowly over to Brennan's side, opening the door. He looked at her, waiting for her reply or movement, but she simply stared ahead.

"Bones…"

Slowly, Brennan turned her body and got out. Booth's arm was almost always within reach, as though he were afraid she would tumble. Not that she ever would. Brennan didn't even shake. When Brennan gripped the door, ready to close it, she hesitated a moment before slamming it rather loudly, and leaning on Booth as though nothing had happened.

Booth acted like nothing had happened and let her lean on him, his arm wrapped around her steadily.

"I got you, Bones…" he whispered into her hair. No tears fell down her face. Nor his. Stoic and solid, just like always.

When they made it in, Cam was waiting for them, fidgeting slightly. The instant she looked up and saw them, she rushed towards them and embraced the pair carefully.

Brennan didn't react, though Booth wrapped his other arm around her, taking note of her tears.

"You saw her," Brennan remarked, almost robotically. Cam nodded, her eyes clouding over again. And Cam rarely cried, which Booth took to mean…

She knew…

"Booth…Dr. Brennan…I don't think it would be wise…" she stated, bowing her head. "I don't believe it would be…Wise to see her…"

Brennan looked up in a trance and shook her head.

"She's my daughter, Dr. Saroyan. Of course I want to see her…"

Booth held Brennan close, rubbing her back. He almost let go of a sob, but kept it in the back of his throat, shaking his head.

"Bones…I don't think I could…"

The sharp glance from her made his heart ache, but he really didn't think he could do it. He was used to death, but it was rare to see it in someone he knew so closely, so personally. He didn't WANT to recognize that it was her.

Instead of waiting for a reply, she shook off Booth and made her way to the morgue. The justifications of this were not beyond her comprehension. She'd handled her mothers bones, she knew what it was like to handle the dead. Nothing happens after death anyways, she told herself. Christine was gone. She just had to make sure that it WAS Christine.

Did she want to know?

As soon as she found the marked room, her hand went right to the knob. There, it hesitated. She didn't actually WANT to know if this was Christine. If it was Christine, she gave up hope. Plus, the idea of handling her own daughter…

She stepped back, the whole situation hitting her.

This was her daughter.

She didn't open the door. Instead, she stepped back, found a chair, and stared at the door, before burying her head in her hands.

She couldn't look at that body.

She couldn't.

Tears falling lightly down her face, Brennan's eyes flickered back and forth, a distress signal that no one would notice.

No one ever noticed her signals except for Booth, Angela and Christine.

Now one was gone.

* * *

Angela had gotten the call from the hospital, and her breath almost sucked away.

"Hodgins! Hospital!"

He'd grabbed the car keys and both had ridden in silence, before parking and running into the hospital.

"Michael Hodgins…We were just called about him…" Hodgins breathed out to a women in a desk. Checking her computer, her eyes flickered up.

"He's in surgery. Go into the waiting room a little ways down," the nurse pointed and Angela and Hodgins both made their way quickly to where they'd been directed.

Two people caught their eyes.

"Booth! Cam!" Angela let out, and rushed to hug them. The numb expression on Booth's face and the tears on Cam's face were immediately noticed by Hodgins.

"Have you guys heard anything about Michael yet?" he asked, the worry for his son taking over. Cam shook her head, and a moment of relief ran through his body. When he looked at them again, however, he realized neither seemed relieved.

"Where's Christine? We didn't hear anything about her," he stated.

Booth's eyes flickered down as he sat down and buried his head in his hands, linking them in silent prayer.

Cam licked her lips and closed her eyes.

"Christine was partially ejected from the car…Dead almost instantly," she stated.

Hodgins tensed very suddenly, and Angela had to keep herself from gasping for air. Her knees buckled slightly, but she was leaning on Hodgins, who kept her up.

"No…No, no, no…" she whimpered, leaning her head back. Hodgins guided her to a chair and sat down next to her, his eyes on his lap.

No, no, no…Everyone was thinking that.

Those no's wouldn't disappear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks everyone! Read and review. I know most of my stories tend to be a bit angsty, but that's kind of how I write. So thanks for sticking with it!**

* * *

"Where's Bren?" Angela asked softly, closing her eyes. Booth looked down and shook his head. He didn't know how to explain where his partner was, didn't know how to explain anything.

_His daughter. _Dead.

_Dead…_

The impact was almost instant, as his arms sagged and he shook his head once more. No. He knew it was possible, but the idea didn't sit well with him. It wasn't even the idea. This was his daughter. His headstrong daughter. His hockey playing, cross country running, martial arts kicking ass daughter. This was the girl he'd taught everything he knew to, the girl he'd loved and cared for. The girl he'd have given his life for.

And she'd died from a car crash?

Bullshit.

That wasn't possible.

Partially ejected was a sign, he knew, of not wearing a god damned seatbelt. And he'd taught her, since a young age, to do so. Had she seen him not wearing it when he'd been on runs? Had she noticed it and assumed that it was alright? Did she not understand the difference? When he'd talked to her about collage, and she'd expressed her concern about the cost, he shook his head.

_"A hundred thousand does not buy my daughter's life. We'll make it. Okay? Don't worry about the cost,"_

He'd heard from Padme about a kid in high school that had been so stressed out about not being able to achieve a 4.0 and get into college with a full scholarship that the kid had tried to commit suicide. The money was not worth his daughters life, even if she wasn't that stressed out.

What had been the cost that night? A couple hundred on the outfit, fifty on dinner. Maybe twenty on lazar tag. One hundred and seventy dollars that night. Never, ever would it be worth his daughters life.

_At least she was happy._

He had to think this way. At least she'd had a good time. At least there hadn't been a fight. At least her last memories with her mom and dad were pleasant ones, all be it embarrassing. At least she knew-

_I love you, baby girl._

Damn it…

He heard the shuffling of Angela getting up, he noted her shaking as she passed by, but he did nothing to change it. It wasn't until she was almost down the hall that he got up.

"I'll go, Ange. Wait for…News on Mikey. Make sure he's okay. Kay?"

She looked back and nodded, before making her way back to Hodgins comforting arms.

It took every ounce of his energy to get up and walk through the hallway. The smell of antiseptic and death clogged his nose, and he tried to keep it away from his thoughts, but it was impossible. When finally he made his way to the room, the one in which he never wanted to enter, he stared for a long time.

Was Bones still in there? Had she gone in at all?

Booth knew he couldn't.

It wasn't that he wasn't used to death. Death was like an old friend. He knew it and greeted it often. But the idea of death greeting him in the sense did little to ease him. Instead, he started towards the waiting room closest. There he saw Brennan.

"Bones," he whispered out, making his way slowly to her and sitting down, wrapping his arms around her figure.

She didn't protest, merely laid her head on his shoulder.

"I couldn't do it, Booth…I just couldn't," the rasp in her voice told him she'd been crying, and the darting of her eyes told him she was panicking. Putting his hand through her hair, he kissed her forehead softly.

"It's okay, Bones. You didn't have to. I'm right here, baby. I got you,"

Her eyes, dark, stared down until finally she shut them.

"I'm scared of my own daughter, Booth. I'm scared to see her,"

He shook his head, running his hands through her hair, kissing her head, trying to make it all go away. It wasn't possible.

"That isn't her, Bones. She isn't there,"

"The idea of a soul is ridiculous, Booth,"

He stayed silent, feeling his heart tug. So, according to Bones, she was gone. Forever. No more.

Booth couldn't imagine how unbelievably lonely that was.

At least he believed in an afterlife. But according to Brennan, this was it. So he felt more than fleeting sorrow, depression, grief. He felt empathy.

"Remember the first time we brought her here?" Booth asked. Brennan looked up and chuckled a little, the light slightly returning.

"She broke her arm. She was trying to act like daddy. Trying to save a cat from a tree,"

"She fell down so hard. Just crying. And then she said to me, 'See, mommy, I'm big and strong like daddy, right! I'm a big girl. And she was. She was brave, too,"

Booth nodded, holding her tighter.

"And then when she got her appendix out. Just smiling like everything was great. She was a little ball of sunshine, you know that?" Booth asked.

"She can't be dead, Booth…She can't," Brennan moaned weakly into Booths shirt. "I thought if I saw her, I could prove it, but if it's true…I don't want to know, Booth. I don't want to know,"

The sound in the back of his throat escaped, a soft sob.

"I don't either, Bones…"

"She can't be dead, Booth…She can't be,"

He nodded, chewing on his lip.

He didn't have a good answer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone! As always, I don't own bones, Reads and reviews are awesome, I love ya'll! I promise, if you stick with it, it will be worth it. It's more then just an angst fic. I just gotta get to it.**

* * *

Hodgins had his arm wrapped tightly around Angela, keeping her close. The protective instinct in his body wanted him to go out and kill the mother that did this, but he had nothing he could do but sit here. Comfort his wife. Hope to god it was all a cruel joke.

A man in a lab coat walked out, saw the only two sitting in the waiting room and made his way towards them, sitting down. Hodgins looked up and blinked, gulping slightly.

"Michael Hodgins?" the doctor asked. Angela nodded and reached for Jack's hand, taking it tightly and leaning on him. The doctor smiled at them and looked down into his lap before looking up.

"The damage was rather extensive, but he'll be just fine. He'll have some difficulty breathing, and may have some memory problems, but aside…I think Michael will be fine," he looked at both of them and then licked his lips, as if trying to figure out how to say what he was going to say next.

"I say that because the list of injuries is very long. His treatment could be very long. It'll be a struggle. There will be times when he won't be sure of a lot of things. Thank god he was wearing his seatbelt. Your son is a very smart young man," he stated, trying to make them feel better. A sting of anger came through Hodgins, however, as he glared at the doctor. In a way, though he didn't realize it, he was calling Christine dumb. His goddaughter was not dumb.

Angela realized this and squeezed Hodgins hand before starting to speak.

"When can we see him?"

The doctor hesitated.

"He'll be moved out of surgery into recovery shortly, but he'll be very tired. I doubt he'll be able to say much to you. If I were you, I'd go home,"

"No!" Hodgins growled, shaking his head. "We're going to see our son. If he's asleep, then that's fine. I just need to make sure…"

_He isn't like Christine_

"-that he's okay, alright? Please," he begged. Angela felt the same way, and the doctor nodded, getting up slowly.

"Alright. Just don't be surprised if he doesn't interact much. He'll be very groggy,"

Both nodded and got the room number, before sitting next to each other in total silence. Angela sighed and closed her eyes.

"Why would someone hit them?" she asked. Hodgins, unsure of what to do, shrugged.

"Maybe they were drunk. The other drivers,"

"They just drove away, Hodgins. Christine and Michael…They're just kids…"

"I know," he rasped, before getting up and giving her a hand, hoping that she would fallow him to see their son. She took his hand and got up, walking into recovery and finding their son's room.

Machine upon machine hooked up to him, he didn't look like the Michael they'd always known. He wasn't smiling, totally still. Even in his sleep he tossed and turned, usually. No, totally still now. Angela had to keep in a gasp when she saw his head, bandaged up, his face cut up. If she'd have seen his chest, she would have seen bandage upon bandage, underneath the layering of cuts and forming scars. He would never be without them, that much was for sure.

They both sat down, watching him sleep, before the heard the low moan come from his mouth. Hodgins got up and walked over, smiling at his son.

"Hey, Mikey. How you feeling, kiddo?"

Michael's eyes weren't half aware, and he shook his head several times, as though trying to clear it. When he managed to, he breathed in and closed his eyes again.

"Dad?" he rasped. Hodgins smiled softly.

"Yeah, me and mom are here. Your gonna be okay, buddy. I promise,"

Michael, not seeming to understand the words, dropped his head back and opened his mouth. Had it been a more comical situation, Angela might have thought he looked drunk. He was probably high off of pain killers, but she also realized that part of it might be because of whatever happened to his brain.

Something was up with his brain.

"Christine?" he managed to ask, opening his eyes a little. Even this was a far off request, and Angela had to hold back a cry.

"Just sleep, okay buddy?" Hodgins requested, rubbing his arm softly. Michael nodded and fell asleep almost immediately.

The soft sound of his breathing calmed Angela, much in the way it had calmed her when he'd been just born. For a long time, he'd been a crying baby, but when he'd finally fall asleep she would find herself in his room, just listening to his breathing. This was her baby boy. Her little prince. This was the kid that she'd always wanted, one of many, and he was totally her's and Hodgins'. That's all that mattered to her.

His breathing reassured her that he was still alive, that he was still healthy. There was nothing wrong with him and he would be fine.

It was the same now. He would be fine. Something was wrong, yes, but she wouldn't let that be the last thing he knew. He would live. He was still okay.

"He's going to be okay, Hodgins…" she whispered, and he nodded as well. He wished the same could be said for his god daughter, and Angela had to agree.

It wasn't just tears of joy that ran down her face.


	7. Chapter 7

The autopsy was done by an outside source. No one looked at the body.

When the body was released, no one looked either. They cremated her. Booth and Brennan walked to a camp site they had spent a large amount of the summers at, and let them go. It had been that simple. Booth couldn't help but realize how _wrong _it all felt. It wasn't right. None of this was right.

Christine had been Roman Catholic, just like her dad, and had just been confirmed, so they'd done a funeral that way. A majority of the school had showed up, the squint squad as well. Her "Uncle Zach" had issued condolences. Before hand, and this was the weirdest part, he even cried a little.

He'd seen her grow up, just like the rest of them. And he realized that this was it.

One person was missing, and it broke their heart that he couldn't make it. At the same time, however, Angela was pretty sure that if he could have come, he wouldn't have made it through.

Michael had managed to make slow progress, and when finally he'd managed to ask, the result hadn't been pretty.

_"How hurt's Chrissy, mom? You can tell me…"_

_His voice had been raspy, pained, but his eyes begged to be told. Angela sighed and grabbed his hand._

_"Sweetie, I don't think right now's the time-"_

_"It IS the time, mom! Where is she? She's going to be okay, right?"_

_Angela had been silent for a long time, and when the tears started to flow down her face, Michaels face had fallen._

_"No…" he muttered, shaking his head. He didn't even notice the piercing pain that reached it. It didn't matter. His best friend in the whole world was gone? That wasn't right!_

_"Michael, please, just-"_

_"NO! No, no, no, no! This is NOT what's supposed to happen! What about Harvard? Huh?! What about Harvard?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What about us? I treated her right, I did everything…I would have died for her! She's my b…My best…." _

_A nurse had come in with some sort of shut that she'd given him, and in an instant he'd fallen slowly under. He stared for a long time._

_"I love her, mom," was the last thing he whispered to her before he went down._

_"Michael…I know…"_

Booth and Brennan held each other tightly, Parker gripping his fathers hand. The young man, usually stoic and solid like his father, had tears running down his face. When asked if anyone had anything to say, he stood immediately and walked up to the podium, where he looked across the church.

"That's my little sister," he stated, pointing at the picture. "That's my little sister. And we hated each other, and we loved each other, and…She was my friend. She IS my friend. When we were little, we used to get into all sorts of trouble, and I'd always angry because….I always took the blame. But I never stopped loving you, Chrissy. I was going to give you trouble because of Mikey, but now…Damn, I hope you were happy that night…" he ignored the look he got from a priest, and sighed.

"I just…I love her…" he walked down, unable to say much else, before he sat down heavily. Booth and Brennan both glanced at him. The fact that he was shaking didn't go unnoticed, and Booth grabbed his hand.

No one else had anything to say. The fact was that there wasn't much TO say. They'd heard about this stuff at assemblies, but none of them thought it was actually possible. It was all bullshit in another county. Another state. Another city.

When everyone filtered out, the squint squad plus Booth were all that were left. Angela took Brennan into her arms and held her for a long time, before they pulled apart.

"Call me if you need me. Like I said. Just. Call. Brennan. Okay?" she asked softly, taking the anthropologists hands in her own. Brennan nodded and hugged her again.

When they all filtered out and just Brennan and Booth were left, Brennan leaned against him, closing her eyes. Booth lifted her hand up and kissed it before closing his eyes and leading her to their car. When they got in, they both sat in utter silence. Neither wanted to turn on the car.

"The police haven't found anything," Brennan started.

"Bones, I really don't want to talk about-"

"Because they said even though it was a hit and run, the make and model is too common and they have no proof that it wasn't disposed of and-"

"Bones, please-"

"But I believe in the law and I know for a fact that they'll-"

"TEMPERANCE BRENNAN! Knock it off! Please! I don't want to talk about this!" he stated, turning to her. He'd expected a numb look on her face, because that was the tone she'd been talking with. Instead, he saw tears falling down her face as she stared blankly out the window.

"Okay, Booth. Sorry," she stated, her tone not changing at all. Booth, his body recoiling, turned the ignition and started on their way home.

"Look, Bones, I'm-"

"It was irrational of me, when I spoke. I'm sorry. It won't happen again,"

"Bones…"

He wanted to say something but couldn't. Gritting his teeth, he kept his eyes forward.

"Booth?" she asked softly. He didn't respond.

"Tomorrow, can we go see Michael?"

It was the request of a child asking for candy, and his eyes flickered towards her, even though there was the tinder of light in his chest.

"Of course we can, Bones…If you feel up to it,"

She nodded, then looked out the window again. She listed the bones in the human body to keep herself occupied.


	8. Chapter 8

**This was extraordinarily short. I'm sorry for that xD Anyways, read and review. Let me know what you think and what you think will happen at any given point!**

* * *

No one could believe how totally numb Michael looked now.

He was a goofball. Hell, he'd always been a goofball. The only time he'd ever taken anything seriously…Well, Brennan couldn't remember. He'd always been the one over whenever something was wrong. When Christine had broken her arm, he'd called her, his high little voice, and made her laugh. When she'd gotten her appendix taken out, he'd been at the hospital every day after school. Even when he was sick, he had this sort of air to him, the kind that said that he was going to be alright, and that everything else was going to be alright.

He was silent now. No smiles. His eyes watched the TV set blankly.

Brennan and Booth had taken their sweet time getting there, taking long breaks in which they would just stare. The idea of going back there hurt too much, and they couldn't bare it. They couldn't…

But they did. The crime solving team had done extraordinary things in the past, but this was the hardest that they could manage. When they finally got to the room and watched Michael, both hearts sunk.

"Hey, Mikey. Where's your mom and dad?" Booth asked, walking in slowly. Michael's eyes shifted over, but then quickly returned to their original spot. He didn't want to look at Booth. Booth, who had given Christine his eyes and love of sports. Booth, who had threatened him countless times that, if he didn't keep his daughter safe, he would shoot him. Booth, who had always served as a second father to him, who had trusted him.

"They're at home, 'dad be my guess," he muttered. His body hurt, but not nearly the amount it hurt to feel their eyes on him. He felt suddenly alone and isolated.

"How are you feeling?" Brennan asked, watching the boy. He gulped in and shook his head before shrugging.

"Alright, I guess. I should be out soon," he stated, blank eyes, not really watching the TV, going to the door.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah,"

He really didn't want to talk to Brennan. Brennan looked too much like Christine, or perhaps it was the other way around. Christine looked too much like Brennan. Except the hair. The hair was different. And the eyes. But everything else, when he looked at her, it screamed Christine Brennan-Booth. Christine Angela Brennan-Booth. Oh god…He'd killed his mothers namesake.

He wanted to cry.

"Listen, Michael,"

"Stop!" he shouted suddenly, turning on them. "Just stop, okay? I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't…I didn't know why…They were just in our lane! They wouldn't move! Why wouldn't they move? Huh?! They were just fucking there! I thought Chrissy was buckled in, but she wasn't, and then the next thing I know, she's just screaming! Okay?! I didn't…I didn't know that would happen. We were just having fun. We were just…Fuck…"

Booth stayed silent and grabbed his shoulder tightly, eyes locked on him. Brennan licked her lips and ducked her head, shaking it slowly.

"I was supposed to protect her. That was my job….I fucked it up," he muttered, shaking his head, even shaking slightly.

"I just…I just wanted…Fuck…"

Everything hurt…It wasn't fair.

Booth squeezed his shoulder and tried to get Michael to look up. When he didn't, Booth instead bent down and forced his head towards him.

"Listen to me, Michael. It wasn't. Your. Fault. Okay? So please. Just calm down," he stated. Michael stared blankly.

"She's dead, Booth. Right? She's dead?"

He stayed silent for a while and then nodded.

"Then why the hell would I be calm? She was the only one that slowed me down,"

He looked away then, reaching under the covers. It was only then that Brennan's eyes landed on whatever was below the sheets.

A small dolphin nose poked out.

Christines first gift to him.

Choking back tears, Brennan looked away.

And among their tears, their fears, and leery attitudes, a cellphone cut through the silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ah sorry it took so long! Here it is! Let me know what you think happened. As always, I don't own Bones, and read and review por favor! You guys have been awesome!**

* * *

It was Booths phone, and the instant it came through, Brennan's eyes shifted to a glare.

"You're supposed to have it off, Booth," she stated. He snorted and picked it up.

"Lo?" he said. If it was the FBI, he was going to be kicking some ass, because they knew very well he was off for a while. Hell, he should be. His heart still ached like hell. His head still ached like hell. What was he supposed to do? Ignore the fact that his daughter was still dead?

"Hello, Agent Booth," A snide remark came through, and Booth quickly grabbed Brennan's phone before walking out, pressing record and holding it up.

"What do you want? Why are you calling me?"

"Well, I thought it obvious. You and Doctor Brennan have been very, very slow. I never thought grief could make someone act like that. Even in panic, Doctor Brennan is very quick witted. Don't tell me she's lost her touch," the voice called out, with a snicker after words. Booth was tense.

"Leave us alone. How are you even calling us? You're in prison,"

"Am I? I don't know, Agent Booth. This doesn't look like prison to me. Of course, it's too bad that I can't show you. I mean, it would be wonderful for you to know everything. But you can't. It's too bad. I always liked you and Doctor Brennan. Very good pair,"

"Will you leave me alone? You obviously know what happened, isn't that enough-"

A loud cry came from the other end, and Booth held the phone away from his head, his eyes darting back and forth. What the hell? Where was he? What was happening?

"SHUT UP!" he heard the man on the other end shout. "SHUT UP! Would you like to say hello or not?"

The sound of whimpering was indistinguishable, and Booth knew before the speaker crackled who was on the other side. After all, he'd heard those whimpers thousands of times. A glimmer of hope came into his being.

"Chrissy?" he whispered, hardly believing it. It was a cruel trick. It had to be. He was messing with them. That's what he did. He messed with them. That wasn't his daughter. That couldn't be his daughter…

"Daddy? Help! I'm-" a soft whimper came from the speaker, and for a moment ever fiber of his being was on fire.

He heard the sound of leather hitting body, a sound he knew well since the day he'd turned ten, and he flinched.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he shouted into the speaker, then heard the crackling as the man picked up again.

"She needs to be quiet. It's a way to keep her silent. Isn't that a good enough answer, agent Booth?"

He was reeling. Booth wanted to take the man on the other end of the phone and yank him up, kill him, thrash him around and then dump him into the bottom of the ocean.

"What do you want?"

"What do I…What do I want, Agent Booth? Well, I want you to hurt. That's all. I don't want anything in return for your daughter. For all you know, this is just a cruel trick. How would you ever know? I bet you haven't even started to track this number,"

Booth suddenly took out his phone and, as if on cue, the voice cackled.

"Nope! It's too late. You can't track it anyways. I won't tell you how, too much information could lead to problems. I'll be checking in ever once and while, though. So you know how little Christine is doing."

He wanted to scream, but instead tried to stay cool.

"Where is she?"

"In the bottom of hell, my good sir. Or at least, as close as mortals can get to it,"

About to shout again, the phone clicked off and Booth held it away from his ear, before walking slowly back to the room.

"Who was that?" Michael asked harshly, staring. Booth looked back at him and rubbed his arms.

"We have to talk, Brennan," he said, pulling her out, giving her her phone back, and telling her to listen.

By the end of the conversation, he jaw was slack and eyes hazy.

"Fuck," he heard her mutter, as she plowed away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Unsure how this part turned out. Thanks everyone! I don't own bones. Read and review, por favor.**

* * *

Of course, neither of them were entirely sure what to do. After all, they'd destroyed the only evidence they had. The young girls body.

Who had been Christine for the past week? Brennan was more then bothered by this. Who had taken the place of their daughter? Or was this their daughter, and had it been some cruel trick? The facts didn't add up. You can't really screw up a body identification that bad, can you?

_Why didn't I go in? I would have known,_

Brennan wanted to scream. The man who had done this…He was a genius, to say the least. So it was totally possible that this could all be fake. But who had identified the remains? How had it gotten so screwed up.

_Dental records confirm…_

But dental records can be switched out. Computerized, it was possible to hack the system. Granted, it was difficult, but possible. Why hadn't she checked…

"This isn't your fault, Bones," she heard Booth mutter from next to her as he drove along. He could hear her rapid breathing and wanted to tell her to calm down, but since he was so on edge himself, he didn't want to try it. Staring at the road, he pulled into the Jeffersonian and piled out.

"I've got FBI on it. We'll find the bastard, Bones. I promise. And Christine,"

Brennan got out and walked with him, quickly, before shaking her head.

"Don't get your hopes up, Booth. I don't want you to be-"

He gave her a look and shook his head. Fine. If he needed to think that she was still alive, fine for him. She would be objective. She had to be. If she let an illusion take over her and Christine really wasn't alive….If it was all a sick joke, she had to be prepared. She didn't think she could live through her daughter dying another time.

The phone number was untraceable, but the FBI had picked something up. He knew that Angela would probably understand it.

When he called the team, all of them were more than confused. It wasn't until they met at the Jeffersonian that they all managed to comprehend it.

"Chrissy's…Alive?" Angela asked in disbelief. Booth started to nod before Brennan cut him off.

"It's a possibility. However, we must remember that it's possible to string together sound bites, to alternate sound, to-"

"She's alive, sweetie," Angela let out a breath of relief, before her eyes, usually soft, hardened. "We have to catch this son of a bitch,"

Hodgins' eyes flashed in anger.

"What have we got?"

Brennan sighed softly, shaking her head.

"Not much. The truck has yet to be taken away, so we have whatever's there. The FBI's on the clock too. It's just, if anything comes up-"

All of them went to their respective area's, and Brennan and Booth slowly walked to her office, before sitting down on the coach positioned there. Booth stared helplessly, then started to get up.

"What are you doing, Booth?" Brennan asked harshly, tugging him down. "Stay. Please,"

"I don't want to do nothing, Brennan! I'm sorry. But our daughter is out-"

"I know! Okay?! Now please, sit down," she begged. He hesitantly sat down again as Brennan leaned into him, closing her eyes and shaking her head. In shock, Booth held her hand and rubbed her back slowly, methodically, before daring to speak.

"Bones, hey. What are you thinking?"

She was silent for a long time before lifting her head.

"If she is alive, then Booth, I'm happy. But I can't bare to think…If this is a cruel joke…If it's all for nothing…Booth, I don't think I could live through it. She's my baby, Booth," she let out, almost in a moan, before shaking softly, tears staining his cloths. Breaking out of his shock like pose, Booth wrapped his arms around her and tried a tight smile.

"Temperance," he whispered, which made her pay attention. "There is a chance. And I'm willing to take it. She's our baby, Bones. And if someone is out there, hurting her, I will kill them. Alright?" he promised, kissing her forehead.

"Why is he doing this?" she moaned. "Didn't he already have his fun?"

He shrugged, unsure, before kissing her on the forehead. It was several hours before anyone came in, and by that time, both were asleep. Brennan was on top of Booth, Booth's arms wrapped around her. Hodgins strolled in and shook them both awake, before tilting his head.

"The FBI found something on the cars. Paint. I can trace the car, hopefully, with it. Bumper made a nasty imprint too,"

"Why didn't they do that before?"

"It wasn't high priority then…Now it is. You guys want to rest more or help me out?" he asked, not unkindly. Both started to sit up and fallow, as Hodgins started to explain the process to them. Afterwards, in front of his computer, they watched as results popped up.

"2013 Silverado, Black," he stated.

"You can get all that from paint?"

"And a number of other things," Hodgins said with a grin. "But you don't care much for the details, do you?" he asked Booth. Brennan almost objected but he went to the next computer screen and started to type something in.

"That doesn't help us much, anyways. An older truck. Big deal. Sixteen years old, roughly. I'm sure its not an unpopular truck,"

"No," Hodgins stated. "But it's a start."

And a start, as slow as it was, was at least something. Some hope to grab onto.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the wait! Read and review, por favor. Thanks to everyone!**

* * *

"Michael," Brennan whispered as she walked into his room. He perked up immediately, eyes flashing something dark, before he looked down again.

"Michael…I need to talk to you," she stated, walking slowly to him. He looked up shyly and bit his lip.

"What's happening? You and Booth just left…Mom and Dad haven't been around…"

Brennan felt a stab of pity, but it was quick. This had to be quick. It wouldn't work otherwise. Hodgins had suggested she talk to his son to see if he'd seen anything. It seemed like he was unwilling to talk to Angela and Hodgins about it, but maybe…Maybe Brennan could get something out.

"We got a call about Christine…I need to know if you saw anything before the crash…Anything at all," she stated, almost in a hyper manner, just wanting to get information and leave. She wanted to find Christine, hold her baby in her arms, but logically she had to hold off. It wouldn't work. There was no proof…

"Christine? What about her?" Michael interrupted her thoughts, and Brennan sighed.

"There is the possibility…That she is still alive…"

His eyes widened and his lips parted, almost in a smile, as he tilted his ehad.

"Alive?"

"Yes. Now Michael. Did you see anything at all? The driver, something of that nature?"

His eyes flashed darkly as he struggled with something, his mind rattling. For a really long time, it seemed he was drawing a blank, until suddenly his face lit up, and his eyes darted to his godmothers face.

"He had black hair…I think it was a he…Driving…Opposite of us," he stated. Black hair wasn't really that big of a deal, a lot of people had it. And if the caller was the capture, then they knew. Brennan sighed and took his hand.

"His face. Was there anything about his face that was odd?" she asked. For a long time, Michael looked confused before he shook his head.

"A beard, maybe. But nothing was…Wrong with it…Why?"

Brennan felt her heart plummet. It would have been obvious if the driver had been who they thought it was. Back to square one. Or maybe not. The fact was that there were now two people to look out for, no matter how vague the details. The caller and the driver. She was hesitating until she heard her phone go off, and Brennan quickly got up, walked out of the room and answered.

"Brennan,"

_Dr. B. I think you better get over here. We found something_

"What?"

_Just get over her, pronto. Did you get anything from Mikey?_

"He said there was nothing wrong with the drivers face…Argo, not who we thought," she stated angrily. There was a sigh on the end of the line and she hung up, before saying goodbye to Michael and walking out, quickly.

After getting back to the Jeffersonian, Brennan found Angela and Hodgins both standing in front of a computer screen, Angela typing rapidly.

"What's going on?"

Hodgins turned around excitedly and grinned, pointing at the screen.

"There was an insect lodged into the vehicle, which was transferred upon collision. Further inspection shows a unique dent within Michael's truck, transferred upon collision. A piece of bumper sticker was lodged into the truck. And guess what?"

"What?"

"Only one company sells the bumper sticker, a local shop in downtown DC. Guess who's going to interview the guy who owns it?"

"Booth," Brennan breathed out, feeling a cough of relief. Angela turned her head and smiled at the relief, before punching enter and turning around.

"What were you doing, Ange?"

"Trying to get you know who off our tail. I put in false information. Hopefully, it'll buy us some time,"

No one wanted or needed that as much as Brennan and Booth.

* * *

"Can I talk to the manager?" Booth grunted out, grabbing his badge. The man came out of his office and smiled a tight, polite smile, bringing out his hand.

"How do you do, sir? What can I do for you today?"

"FBI," Booth snarled, taking out his badge. "We need to talk,"

The man quickly froze up and nodded, ushering Booth into his office and then closing the door, eyes wide and afraid.

"Um…May I ask what this is about?" the man choked out, pulling on his collar. Booth grabbed the print of the bumper sticker Hodgins had printed off and handed it to him.

"You recognize this?"

The man stared and nodded.

"Yes…We sell quite a few of them, along with car parts. Why?"

"Do you ever meet the customers?"

"Occasionally, yes. I mean, if we talk long enough. Can I ask what this is about?"

"A GIRL IS MISSING!" he snarled, angry once more. "And someone you sold this to might have taken her. Now tell me. Has anyone who bought this had or bought a 2013 Chevy Silverado? Black,"

The man stared for a long time before relaxing, his eyes calming.

"Ricky? You talking about Ricky?"

Booth stared for a long time.

"Who the hell is Ricky?"

The man licked his lips.

"Ricky, an old buddy of mine! He's famous 'round these parts, put that little bumper sticker on the front like a smart ass! Takes real good care of his truck, too, a real regular. Desert storm vet. A good guy. Why you looking for him? He wouldn't do nothing like that,"

Booth was now seething, staring at him.

"What would Ricky's last name happen to be?" he asked, snarling. The man smiled tightly.

"Vandult. Ricky Vandult. But I promise whatever trouble's been going on, it ain't him. He's a good guy. I think you got the wrong one,"

Booth turned on a heel, grabbed his phone and called the lab.

"Do a search on Ricky Vandult, see if he has any connections to our prime suspect. Give me his address. I'm going in,"


	12. Chapter 12

**Totally short, sorry!**

* * *

_She could taste the blood in her mouth. The burning on her back was now awake, realer then ever. She wanted scream._

_Instead, she let out a soft whimper._

* * *

Vandult lived not to far away, and like both a soldier and an angry father, Booth burst onto the step and slammed on the door.

"FBI! Open up!"

The silence was deafening, and Booth gritted his teeth, slamming against it.

"If you don't open up RIGHT now, I will break this door down! Open up!" he screamed.

He heard the sound of someone coming upstairs, then opening the door. On the other side of the door was a man, no older than thirty nine, leaning against a door. His body was calm, and he was dressed in, frankly, pajama's. A big shirt with dirt stains, and a pair of pants that were more than a little holey.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Booth stared at him and shook his head.

"2013 Chevy Silverado. You're the owner, right? Where's the truck?"

He looked around, then tilted his head.

"You got a warrant?"

Booth was silent.

"Then I don't got to let you know nothing. Good day, sir," he started to shut the door, before Booth slammed his arm in to stop it.

"You tell me where that god damned truck is, right now. Alright? If you don't, I will kill you. You're a military man, I understand,"

The man's eyes flashed.

"Well so am I. And I will kill you if you don't show me it right now,"

The man was silent before sighing.

"It's with a friend, man. It ain't here,"

Booth jammed the door open, staring at him with flaring nostrils.

"What…Friend?"

Both were getting visibly angry, staring each other down, until finally the man smirked.

"Man, you're mighty stupid, ain't you? Get off my property. Or else I'll call the cops on you,"

"I am the cops!"

His eyes flashed dangerously.

"Well, I'm sure your boss will be happy to hear that you came on here, unannounced, without a warrant,"

The door slammed in Booths face. Instead of responding, he stared for the longest time, walked to his car, slammed the door, and let out a long yell.

* * *

_Fuck…Why did it hurt so much? Her mind was darting to try and figure out what happened. Why was her back burning? Why did it feel like…_

_Is that a door opening?_

* * *

The call came in later, after Booth had come and tried to attain a warrant. It was to Brennan's phone, this time, and it was set on speaker phone right as soon as she saw the unidentified number. Everyone sat around it, hoping for a clue, a piece of evidence, something.

Instead they heard weak coughing, moaning, and instantly, Brennan was sure. She knew the complaints of her child just as she knew the complaints of her own body.

Christine was still alive.

_But for how much longer?_

"Brennan…I think I know where they are.

Brennan had never been so thankful of Angela in her life.


	13. Chapter 13

**Finally updating, huh? Anyways, thanks everyone! I don't own Bones. If you can figure out the riddle in this, I'll give you a cookie. Review, please!**

* * *

Once Booth heard this, he rushed out to the car, where Brennan soon fallowed on the phone. FBI had been called, and the directions placed. How was it this easy?

The call had come from an abandoned warehouse. The idea of going in alone freaked both of them out more then a little, but then, their baby was in there. They couldn't just let her go. That wasn't a fair idea, and both of them resented the thought of having to leave her again. Speeding down the road, neither spoke. There was nothing to say.

We're getting her back, Booth thought eagerly, though the sound of her whimpering played in his mind. He wanted to yell for her, to kill for her.

Brennan's thoughts were much more straightforward. She was going over what might have happened, going over how the situation had played out. At the same time, her thoughts kept flashing to the man who had apparently done this.

_If you tell her, five innocent people will die._

Palant.

It had been over thirteen years, the man convicted. And yet, thirteen years later, he was still toying with them. Booth hadn't told her. She could remember those lonely nights, how angry and bitter she'd been. But they hadn't broken up, which had been HIS plan. The first death had forced the truth out of Booth.

The second death came only a week later.

The third, a month.

The forth had come a year later, the man convicted. He had connections, this much they'd established. The accomplice had been arrested, and the man put under strict guidance. So far as Booth was concerned, he'd saved an innocent person's life.

Who had been the last person, though? He remembered thinking this.

Christine was, technically, innocent. In fact, at the time the threat was made, she was the definition of innocent. She was a baby. The perfect target.

Yet, the attack was so unlike the hacker. Torture was not his method. He did not hide what he did by faking deaths, he hid what he did by messing with the system. Therefore, there had to be another accomplice.

Or he was fucking with them.

God, Booth hoped that wasn't the case.

When they pulled into the warehouse parking lot, Booth grabbed his gun and watched the entrance, waiting for the backup. When it came only moments later, he quickly got out. Brennan started, but Booth held his hand up.

"Stay here. Alright? Stay here,"

"But-"

"No! Stay. Here. Got it?"

Brennan complied, nodding her head sadly. Booth kissed her fleetingly before starting at the entrance, quietly walking down the halls with gun at the ready.

When he reached stairs, he heard it. Whimpering.

Motioning at the three guys behind him, he waiting a second before kicking in the door, rushing in and trying to find his daughter. He knew there could be someone else in here, and so he turned around, once or twice.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

He held up his hand to try and get everyone to be quiet. Where was the sound coming from if she wasn't here? Angela had been so sure of herself. Cautiously, he walked around, staring at the wet floors.

Finally, his eyes landed on the source of the sound.

A CD player.

His breath came out raspy, angry, until finally he let out a loud yell and punched the wall.

On repeat, the sound of his daughters cries met his ears, and finally he realized exactly what had happened. Yes, the captor had been here. He wasn't sure if he daughter had been. But it was all a set up thus far.

He was toying with them.

Where was Christine now? He had no clue. He couldn't figure it out if he tried.

Walking up to the boom box, he almost kicked at it again before he realized something. On top of the player, the words "Track 1 of 2" was displayed in red lights. His breath came out hitched. Kneeling down next to it, he took out a glove and pushed the "Next" button.

His voice played.

"Good job, Agent Booth. You figured out this much. Now here's the next piece. 2- 1. 329 through 333. Now, figure that one out, hero. Oh, and if you don't figure it out soon, I assure you that that the mistress in THIS act will not die falsely."

The clue meant nothing to him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks everyone! A few more clues, I'll still give you a cookie if you can figure it out after this. I know, I made it difficult. It'll solve up in the end. Reviews are helpful! Thanks!**

* * *

Walking out, half defeated, Booth didn't even want to look at the car. Brennan hopped out almost immediately and ran to him.

"Christine-" she started, but he shook his head.

"It was a mind game. She's not there. He left us another clue, though," he stated, eyes shifting back before placing his hands in his pocket. She watched him expectantly before he sighed, pulling out a piece of paper he'd used to scribble down the message.

_"Good job, Agent Booth. You figured out this much. Now here's the next piece. 2- 1. 329 through 333. Now, figure that one out, hero. Oh, and if you don't figure it out soon, I assure you that that the mistress in THIS act will not die falsely."_

Brennan watched and gritted her teeth.

"He's screwing with us. It probably doesn't mean anything. Forensic evidence is down there, I'm sure-"

"And FBI is collecting it. Has he ever just fucked with us? It all means something," he stated, pocketing the piece of paper and heading for the car. "I'm going to bring it to the lab and see if it means anything to anyone,"

Brennan nodded, trying to think of a way to put it all together. Three hundred and twenty nine plus three hundred and thirty three was six hundred and sixty two, plus three for the 1-2, six hundred and sixty five. Was there any significance there? No. Of course not.

There were four numbers between the three hundreds. And both one and two could go into four. But his wording had been precise. He'd said one dash two. There was no significance in those numbers that she could think of. Was it an address?

She split up the numbers to equal letters, put them randomly. Nothing worked. Nothing made sense. It wasn't an address. 329 was an area code for Dallas, she checked on her phone. 333 could be used for Mexico. It didn't really mater, because he'd said 329 THROUGH 333.

Other then four she saw no reasonable way of sorting through that much. Granted, infinite numbers existed between the two, but it would be impossible to sort through every single one past real numbers and whole numbers.

It didn't make sense.

Breathing in, Brennan shook her head. What? What did it mean?

The Jeffersonian was mostly quiet, unoccupied except for the squints. Coming in, they all stood up eagerly, hoping the news was bright.

"Who here is good at riddles?" Brennan asked suddenly. All of the eager looks fell.

"Riddles?"

Booth explained the situation and then handed them the paper.

Angela read through it, her head shaking.

"Did you look up the numbers, see if they mean anything? Area codes, that sort of thing?"

Brennan nodded.

"Yes. I've tried sorting it out in my head, but I don't-"

Hodgins took it and read through it once or twice.

"Do you mind if I mark it?" he asked. Booth shook his head.

"Go right ahead, wonder boy," he stated, growling a warning. Don't screw this up, bug boy, he wanted to shout. You do and I kill you. Hodgins laid it out and took out a pencil.

_"Good job, Agent Booth. You figured out this much. Now here's the next piece. 2- 1. 329 through 333. Now, figure that one out, hero. Oh, and if you don't figure it out soon, I assure you that that the mistress in THIS act will not die falsely."_

Hodgins held it up to them, pointing.

"The wording is very specific, very unlike Palant. He's usually very calculating, but this is more…Floral, in a way. He used piece instead of clue, dash between two and one. He uses through, so we know the numbers don't necessarily mean anything individually. He uses mistress, for Christ sake. Who uses that word anymore? He emphasizes this…Act is used instead of, say, this time. And then he says die falsely. That isn't what you'd say now a days. You'd say a faked death. I don't think it's all about the numbers. I think the riddle has to do with wording, too," he stated, staring at them.

Angela looked over his shoulder and nodded.

"He's right. When you were gone that summer, Brennan, I watched Palant as closely as I could. He's not into the whole…Poetic thing unless it really means something to someone. Like the marigold. That was poetic, but it meant something to you. It was an invasion of privacy," she stated. Sweets was looking at them from behind and nodding.

"I have to agree. In any case, I can certainly say that none of that means anything to me."

They stared at Angela, the more artistic one, waiting for her input on what it might mean. Licking her lips, she sighed and shook her head.

"Look, it doesn't remind me of any art piece. And the wording doesn't remind me of an art piece either…It reminds me of a play. Act, mainly. If he meant to emphasize not only this but act, he was telling us something,"

"What do plays matter to any of us, though?" Cam asked suddenly."None of us are much into theater,"

It took a moment when finally both Angela and Brennan looked up at each other, and Booth and Hodgins met each others glances.

"Michael," they stated, before rushing to their cars.


	15. Chapter 15

**Finally, the clue is revealed! But even this a riddle. Read and review, please! Thank you for your continued support!**

* * *

"Michael," Angela started as soon as she wakled in, eyes wide. The boy looked up suddenly, staring at them.

"What's going on? I don't know what's going on, mom…Tell me what's happening," he begged. Angela shook her head and took out the piece of paper.

"Michael, this is very important. Okay?"

He stared at her, almost protesting, but the look in her eyes told him something so he shut his mouth. He waited for her to start.

"You know when you and Christine were in Drama club last year? You know the play you did?" she asked. He rose his brows and nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Um...Yeah, sure. I mean, it's kind of hard to forget,"

She took in a shaky breath and handed the piece of paper to him.

"The underlined words and phrases. Do they mean anything to you?"

He took it and stared, his eyes widening.

"Um, yeah. I mean, the entire last part of the play was based around false death. It's kind of Shakespheres thing in a lot of plays," he stated, staring down at it. His eyes narrowed. "Why isn't Hero capitalized?" he asked suddenly, turning to his mom. Angela tilted her head.

"What?"

"Hero. It's a name of the character in the play. Christine's character, in fact. She played Hero, remember? I played Claudio. It should be capitalized, right?" he stated. Her body suddenly tightened as the realization came to her. The clues built up, and the poetic justice hadn't been just for kicks. It had a personal reference.

"What about the numbers?"

He looked up at her like she was crazy.

"2-1. Act two, scene one. The bigger numbers are line numbers. Like, start at three twenty nine or whatever. What does all of this mean, mom?" he asked her. She already had her computer out, however, ready to search through and figure out what exactly those lines were.

"What was the plays name again, Michael?"

"Much ado about nothing…Mom, what's all this about?"

Her eyes searched through the text as she read it out loud.

"'If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift…' What does this mean?" she asked angrily. Michael stared, shaking his head.

"What's going on, mom? Tell me!" he commanded, suddenly sick of being in the dark. He had jerked up and Angela felt the sudden urge to push him down. She could see the pain written on his face, and he wanted nothing more then to take it away.

"We think that Christine could be alright. And Palant…He's playing with us. He gave us that riddle,"

Michael bristled.

"Palant as in the guy that dad always talks about? The guy that fucked up your guys' life!?" he asked. Angela hushed him.

"Yes, him,"

"I thought he was in prison! How does he have Christine?"

"I don't know. But does that line mean anything to you?"

He stared and shook his head.

"Mom, that's one of the most famous lines in that play. For we are the only love gods. It doesn't mean ANYTHING. It's a plot point. That's all,"

Her shoulders slumped as she stared at him, hoping that something would come to mind. Instead, he stared at her hopelessly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, mom…It doesn't mean anything to me…"

Feeling hopelessless sink into her veins, she nodded and walked closer, taking his hand in hers and bending over to kiss his forehead, before backing off.

"Do you want me to stay, Michael?" she asked softly, seeing tears bristle in his eyes. It ached physically to see him in this much torment. He shook his head.

"No. Find her, mom…Please. Find her,"

It wasn't a request. It was a flat out beg. He sounded like a little boy.

Only he wasn't anymore. He was a teenager. A teenager who had lost his best friend and gained hope of getting her back again all within a short amount of time. If they didn't find her…She was afraid it wouldn't just be Christine who would be gone.

"If you think of anything…Call me," she stated. He smiled, forcefully, and nodded.

"Course."

"I love you, Michael,"

He looked up at her, bangs in his eyes.

"Go."


	16. Chapter 16

**Reviews, fallows, etc. are awesome and I love you guys! I don't own Bones. **

* * *

She was shaking violently when the door was opened. Staring at her captor, she tried not to look too afraid. It was too late, however. The fear flickered in her eyes like a candle about to go out. The man smiled and knelt down besides her, placing his hand on her back. She let out a low hiss and tensed immediately, trying to strain away to no avail.

"Hey, easy there babe. Don't want you to struggle. Now, tell me. You got anything to tell mommy and daddy?"

Christine stared with tears in her eyes and shook her head.

"Fuck off,"

He smiled and pressed down harder on her back, until she let out a yelp of pain.

"That's better. Think it's starting to get infected yet, sweetheart? You're the grade-A student in biology, ain't ya?"

"Fuck…Off…" she hissed, though she was fighting to stay awake. She saw the glint of a knife and flinched, shaking her head.

"Oh, sweetheart. Don't worry. I'll keep you awake all night long,"

Gritting her teeth, she tried not to scream.

* * *

"So if it doesn't mean anything, what do we go off of?"

Cam had entered as soon as Booth asked this, pounding on Angela's desk. Brennan was in the corner, arms crossed over her chest an expression of confusion on her face.

"I think that we're all going at this in the wrong way!" Cam stated. All eyes turned to look at her.

"What do you mean? We don't really have much forensic evidence to go by, Camille," Booth stated angrily.

"I realize that, Seeley. But let's think. What's Pelant's big thing? What do we want to avoid when we're dealing with him?"

"Computers," Angela stated simply. "He's a master with computers,"

"Right. But you tracked that number with ease. FBI techs informed us that Christine's blood was found on the scene. Therefore, she was at the scene. It wasn't a trick by Pelant. It was a trick by someone who was helping him,"

"So he has an accomplice! We've established this, Camille. We're running with it,"

"But we didn't have a valid crime scene. The crime scene had been cleaned up. Guess what we have now?"

Brennan got up quickly.

"A valid crime scene," she whispered. "Did they find something?"

Cam flashed a smile at her.

"A piece of fabric which Hodgins identified as such-Pleated, black fabric, used in the design of a 1940's grand drape. Also known as the front curtain of an extremely old theater. And after a quick search, guess what we found?"

Booth stood up straighter.

"What?"

"A 1940's theater, currently abandoned. The name of the old theater was known as Cupid's Glory. And was named after a very specific play, and a very specific quote. This specific play was the first play ever shown in the theater. And guess where it's located?"

Booth only needed one guess.

"DC,"

"You got it, Seeley,"

"No. We got the bastard,"

She handed him the address and he was on his way, Brennan at his back.

* * *

No sirens were uttered, but backup was formed as they drove into the abandoned lot.

Parking far away, Booth grabbed his gun and motioned towards Brennan.

"Do NOT get out of this car. And if you hear shooting, leave. Get away. Alright? No ifs ands or buts,"

"Booth, I-"

"Alright?"

She swallowed and nodded, though she had no intention.

Flanked by guards, Booth entered, instructing the other men to find any entrances that could be escape routes.

Making his way in, he and the others checked around, place after place. The theater was dark, mangled. The curtains hung loosely on the ground, graffiti marked its walls. After checking the entire area, he almost huffed in defeat. Nothing.

Until he stepped on stage, and felt movement bellow his feet.

Trap door.

Eyes sliding around, he nodded to a man on stage right, then nodded down. The man slowly walked over and pointed the gun down. Moving the plank, Booth slipped down.

Stairs. It had been changed for a different use. Walking down with three other men, his flashlight shone brightly down the stairs.

"FBI! Hands in the air!" he shouted, and to his relief, he heard a grunt in response.

With three flashlights the area was shown clearly. A man was kneeling on top of his daughter, and Booth wanted nothing more than to kill him.

But he had a knife to her throat.

"FBI. Put the weapon down, sir," the man in back of Booth stated. The man was staring at them, shaking his head.

"But me and this sweet girl, we been havin' such fun. Isn't that right, little one?"

She didn't respond.

"How'd you get in contact with Pelant?" Booth asked, trying to distract him. He looked at him with glassy eyes.

"We was in prison togetha. I got out, he stayed in. We was good friends. And he told me 'bout all this trouble this little girl was causin' him…Ah, well, I was mighty happy to help out,"

Booth looked down and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"So Pelant was never out of jail, huh?"

The man seemed confused as he shook his head.

"No. He was stuck in there cuz of folks like you that don' understand,"

Booth swallowed as he slowly walked around the man. However, the man kept close eyes on him, and the knife close to Christine's throat.

"Understand what?"

"The greater good! Don' you worry yourself none. I know it's hard for you to get,"

Booth wanted to scream, but instead kept his cool.

"So what'd you do?"

"I…I barrowed an old friend's truck. My friend gave me the information I needed. I was workin' in a grave yard, and I found a girl mighty like her. Right age and everything, face all messed up. Everything all messed up. Car crash victim. Perfect, really. I wasn't sure how long it would take to make it perfect. And then I went out and hit those two. I didn't want the boy to be hurt none, he didn't have nothin' to do with it. I ain't sure what my friend didn't just want the girl dead, but I did what I was supposed to do. I fallow directions mighty well,"

"You sent info to your friend, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"And he switched it out," Booth realized all of this and his mind whirred.

"Why are you telling us all of this?" one of the FBI men asked. He turned around and shrugged.

"Cuz you're gonna shoot me for what I do next," he stated, as he brought up his hand and started to bring it into the girls neck.

Booth pulled the trigger.

Bang.

It took less than a second for Booth to push the man off and cradle his daughter.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks everyone! **

* * *

"Christine. Christine, wake up. Hey, come on," Booth muttered softly, being careful not to touch her for fear that he might hit an injured point. She moaned in response.

"Helps coming, okay sweet heart? Okay?"

She didn't respond.

Breathing heavily, Booth slowly slipped his arms underneath her body, picking her up carefully. She cried out and then fell silent, much to his dismay. Other FBI agents looked over and flinched, but Booth barely noticed. Instead, he slowly carried Christine up the stairs and out into the open, where several cop cars and Brennan were waiting.

"Booth?" she cried out and ran to him, before seeing Christine. "Oh god. She's alright,"

Booth looked down at her and nodded, though alright was a rather casual statement. She seemed anything but alright. She trembled in his arms, and he could tell by the warmth coming off of her that something was infected. With the sound of the ambulance, Brennan turned her attention from her daughter to Booth again.

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"The guy that took her is dead," he replied softly. Brennan nodded, trying not to spit out a comment like thank goodness. She knew that no matter how horrid the person, Booth hated taking another persons life.

"I'm sorry,"

He shrugged and slowly walked over to the ambulance, handing over Christine. The EMT's went to work, ignoring Booth and Brennan, who stood off to the side until they drove off. Brennan looked over at Booth in desperation, and he simply shrugged, exhaustion evident in his eyes.

"Lets head to the hospital. Shall we?" he asked with a sad smile, offering his hand. She took it and nodded, leaning on him heavily.

"Is she going to be okay?" Brennan asked softly. She hoped for one of his white lies, one of which she could rely on. However, when they got into the car he stared off for a while. He almost said yes, but then hesitated.

"No," he stated softly. "She'll never be okay again,"

Brennan hesitated and then nodded, taking this explanation. She didn't like it, but then, it was the truth.

At least she wasn't dead. That was the main thing.

The rush and realization of this took her back like a strong wave. Christine Brennan wasn't dead. She could die, but she wasn't right now. She had buried her daughter, but she was alive again. She felt suddenly as though she might understand why Booth believed in things like Christianity. For a person to come back to life after being dead is like a breath of fresh air. Or a sock in the gut.

Pulling out her phone, Brennan hesitated before dialing the lab. Angela picked up.

"We got her back. Can you come to the hospital?"

* * *

The doctor came out slowly and called for them. They quickly got up and he approached them.

"She's stable. But we have some concerns. There were chemical burns on her back and chest, which became severely infected. We should be able to treat it, but it will result in scarring. And the man put some not too pleasant messages on her body. She was starved, dehydrated. These things can be slowly altered. A rape kit has been ordered and we'll be testing to make sure no major damage has been sustained. We hope, of course, that that did not happen. But we must assume…For the worst,"

Angela seemed to be sinking with this information, while Brennan was simply nodding to it. The numbness behind her eyes was apparent, but no one managed to see this other then Booth. Brushing her hair softly with his fingertips, he tried to keep not only her but himself calm.

Hodgins was shaking, holding on to Angela and keeping her upright.

"The bastards dead, right Booth? Good riddance," he snarled. Booths eyes hardened.

"When can we see her?"

The doctor hesitated.

"You may want to go home. I'll call when visitors are allowed,"

Brennan shook her head.

"No. I'm staying," she muttered, backing up and going into the waiting room, lowering herself onto a chair. Angela and Hodgins both fallowed before Booth, who waited a moment to calm himself.

"Hey, Doc?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Is she…Physically, going to be okay?"

The doctors eyes softened.

"Agent Booth. She'll live. I can promise that. But as for is she'll be okay…Time tells those things, don't they?"

Booth swallowed and nodded.


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm sorry it's so short! Marching band is taking up a huge amount of time, along with the fact that I'm currently working out almost three hours out of the day in hopes of enlisting in the Army this October. I've been updating "I miss that" due to the shortness of each chapter, but this is really hard to get going on. In any case, here's a (short) new chapter! It isn't nearly as good, but it's something.**

* * *

A knock caused an instant reaction from the boy that was laying down. He perked up, turned around quickly, before groaning from the process.

"Heya, Buddy," Hodgins said, small smile on his face. Michael stared back before shaking his head, looking over at his father. The question was written all over his face.

"She's…She's okay, buddy," he reassured with a soft tone before walking over and sitting next to his son. He expected some kind of reaction, something akin to joy, but instead the boy simply nodded and looked away, as though unsure of how to react.

"Hey, Mikey…Did you hear me?"

He nodded again and then turned back to his dad.

"Where is she, then?"

The disbelief in his voice was evident, and Hodgins felt a moment of guilt. Okay hadn't been a good word to use, but then, what else was he supposed to say? His son was recovering too. He didn't need to make him more worried, cause the potential of injury or something of the like.

"She's…She's in surgery,"

The word made his already dark eyes darken. It caused him to turn away and hug himself as well as he could. Had his father not been there, it would have caused a whimper, a cry of some sort. Since he was there, though, Michael refused to show this much of a sign of weakness.

"But it wasn't your fault, Mikey? Okay. It wasn't because of the crash. A…A guy got to her…And, well…"

"Yeah, I got the story Dad," he said numbly, still staring off into the distance. Hodgins felt confusion in his gut.

"What's up then?"

It took a long time for Michael to respond.

"It should have been me," he responded, squirming slightly. Hodgins felt a sudden rush of compassion for his boy, along with confusion. In the same way, however, he felt a small amount of pride creep in. He'd rather be hurt then let someone else be hurt. A trait that was rare now a days in Hodgins' own view point.

"Why do you say that?"

Michael snorted in response, refusing to answer.

"How bad is it?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer. Hodgins once more hesitated, shaking his head and starting to speak before stopping. This happened three times more before he finally spoke.

"Michael…It's bad,"

Silence.

"Can I see her?" after several minutes. Hodgins hesitated, and started to nod before shaking his head.

"Not anytime soon, bud. She's…She's gonna be in bad shape,"

"But-"

"No buts, Mikey…I'm sorry, okay? When things look better-"

"Are you and mom going to get to see her?" he asked suddenly. Hodgins hesitated before nodding. "Then why can't I?"

Because, he wanted to say, your mom and I aren't in a hospital bed ourselves! We don't have the risk of getting hurt more! Your our son, he wanted to shout. We need to keep you safe too.

"Because…Damn it, Michael. You know why,"

He snorted and turned slightly, now avoiding eye contact with his father.

"Whatever,"

It's my fault anyways, he thought angrily.


End file.
